Bullets, Revenge and the Black Parade
by breathing is over-rated
Summary: Story based around songs by My Chemical Romance, summaries at the beginning of each chapter. Cancer fic.
1. The hardest part

**The hardest part**

Overview: Each chapter will be based on a different MCR song, it's going to get seriously depressing and slightly AUish. Just so you know.

Summary: Sherlock came back but a lot can change in three years. Cancer fic. Sorry guys.  
Rating: M  
Disclaimer: Not mine, based on song 'Cancer' by My Chemical Romance

_It just ain't living,  
And I just hope you know,  
That if you say 'Goodbye' today,  
I'd ask you to be true,  
'Cos the hardest part of this,  
Is leaving you._

This was not how Sherlock had planned his return, it was not even remotely close. The 221b seemed to have stooped since he was last there, as though it couldn't take the weight any longer. That alone should have been a sign. The detective entered, the lock had never been changed. Mrs Hudson toddled over and gasped.  
"Sherlock?" She squeaked. The tall male had the sense to look abashed.  
"Yes, Mrs Hudson." He answered, waiting for her to admonish him but it never came. Something was desperately wrong.  
"I think you should go and see him." The landlady pressed, her eyes wandering up to the door which lead up into the flat.

The stairs creaked from lack of use. Sherlock frowned, John was a soldier, he wouldn't let himself fall to disarray. The detective took the rest of the steps in long strides and opened the door, a chilling sense of dread washing over him.

A smell of disinfectant assaulted his nostrils as Sherlock passed through the threshold. The flat had been kept immaculately clean, the door to his bedroom was open whereas the door which lead up to John's looked as though it hadn't been used for years. Holding back the shiver, he crept to his old room.

The smell had gotten stronger, murky light flickered from a light which no one had bothered to change. A figure lay in the bed, deathly pale and barely moving. Sherlock tiptoed closer, the figure was John, that was certain, but he didn't look like John, his skin sagged around his face, he had lost weight. His chest moved ever so slightly but other than that, he gave all pretences of being… Sherlock cleared his throat. Tired eyes cracked open, dully regarding the visitor.  
"How did you get in here?" A crackling voice asked, barely above a whisper. Sherlock gulped.  
"I'm sorry John, I had to leave. I'm so sorry you had to see me fake my death but you had to believe it was real-"He began. The slight movement of a hand cut him off.  
"I knew you were alive. I knew from the beginning. Molly couldn't keep the secret from me when I cornered her with facts. Even you leave a trail, Sherlock." He sucked in a breath. "I asked how you managed to get in here, Mycroft was supposed to keep you away until-" The soldier was struggling to talk now but he fought to get his words out all the same. "-Until I had passed. He was going to tell you I had gone to America."

Sherlock froze.  
"What are you talking about, John?" He asked, not wanting to know the answer. The doctor tried for a smile.  
"It would be better, you could go on thinking I was alive. He agreed that it would be better." John kept saying 'better'. He was going to get better, right? Something in Sherlock's expression gave him away. "Cancer, Sherlock, it's cancer."

The detective kicked into overdrive, there were many kinds of cancer, so many kinds. They could get treatment, remove any tumours, chemo. They could do anything, something. His shoulders sagged as his rational mind took over again. He knew, he could tell by the way John looked now, it was far too late.  
"How long?" He asked, surrendering.  
"A week, maybe less." John tried another smile. "You can leave, you know. Just delete it. I'm in America." The detective frowned. John was _dying_, why was he doing this? Then it struck him like a bolt of lightning. John was protecting him, still, after all this time. He's giving him a lie, a suitable lie, that he can believe instead.  
"I'll stay." He replied. "I never should have left."

_'Cos the hardest part of this  
Is leaving you._


	2. So long and good night

**So long and good night**

Summary: With John dead, Sherlock is left to deal with the aftermath. Cancer fic, sorry guys. Part of the MCR series.  
Rating: M  
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be mine. Based on 'Helena' by My Chemical Romance

_And what's the worst you take,  
From every heart you break,  
Like the blade you stain,  
Well I'll be holding on tonight._

Three weeks later

John was gone. Two weeks and a day, far longer than the doctors had predicted but then John had always been stronger than the average man. In more ways than one. Sherlock stood in the rain, his curls matted against his forehead and he shivered from the cold water which seeped through his coat. The priest sprinkled dirt over the coffin deep in the ground. People had gathered around him, whispers about who he was. Some knew, some guessed but in the end they all came to the right answer. It was Sherlock Holmes, the fake genius detective who committed suicide, only not really. Mycroft was sorting out his return, with Moriarty's web gone and all the evidence to clear his name they only had to think of an angle to play it. A hollow victory now, he had lost the only person he wished to share it with.

One by one the others filed off, leaving to the after party, until only Sherlock was left, staring as they filled the grave in. Like he had every day since John had breathed his last, the detective wondered if he should forget. His chest ached with every solitary beat of his heart. Was it better to believe that his only friend was still alive but he couldn't see him? Was it truly better to live a lie? Sherlock shook his head. He couldn't do that, he couldn't delete anything to do with John, every memory was precious, even if they hurt to watch.

Finally, Sherlock was alone. The grave had been filled and a fresh layer of grass put over the top. John had chosen his own gravestone, modelled on the one that had marked Sherlock's fake grave. That was just another kick, another blow that Sherlock couldn't defend himself from. There was a plot of land put aside beside John's, the two were closer together than was usual. When the detective had asked why, John had simply smiled and said 'Well we need to make up for the time when we weren't side by side". At this, Sherlock had broken. He had kept a hold on himself well up until then. This sentiment was going to be the death of him.

The detective looked down at the sleek black stone. He supposed his was meant to say something, John had talked at his.  
"I never expected to outlive you, John." He choked. "I sorely wish I hadn't but I guess we both had to go through the other dying. I'm just sorry I put you through this." Sherlock bit back the tears. "I miss you, John."

_What's the worst thing I could say?  
Things are better if I stay.  
So long and good night,  
So long and good night._


	3. I'm not okay (I promise)

**I'm not okay (I promise)**

Summary: With John gone, cracks are appearing. But Sherlock soon finds that he can't say no when he is needed.  
Rating: M  
Disclaimer: Not mine, based on the song 'I'm not okay (I promise)' by My Chemical Romance

_Well if you wanted honesty,  
That's all you had to say.  
I never want to let you do or have you go  
It's better off this way.  
_

Sherlock lay looking up at the ceiling. He knew he had many cases, his big comeback had been a huge success, well Mycroft had been behind it. There was no way it was going to fail with the backing of the British Government. Still, it had not changed anything. The detective spent his days in the flat. He couldn't physically walk into his own room now and he wanted to preserve John's just for a little while longer. This meant he spend most nights (and days) on the sofa. His phone had gone off several time in the last three hours. The first time he had asked John to fetch it for him, since then he just ignored its existence.

The door downstairs opened. Mrs Hudson's voice rang from the bottom. Mycroft had paid her more than enough money to live without needing to get another flatmate for his younger brother. It seemed he had also paid while John had been living, if it could be called that, there after the fall.

Footfalls on the step.  
_Why did it have to be terminal?  
_Adult male, tired.  
_Why did it have to be John?  
_Gruff voice, the DI had decided to pay him a visit.  
_Why did it have to be now, when he thought everything was in the clear?  
_The door was wretched open with slightly more force than was necessarily needed. DI Lestrade strode inside and marched straight to the couch.  
"Sherlock." He sighed in relief when he saw the cold, blink eyes. "I've been calling you for hours. I thought…" He faltered, not wanting to trigger anything. Sherlock glided into a standing position.  
"You thought what?" He asked. "That I'd killed myself? I almost never answer calls, Lestrade. I am fine." He accented each word in the last sentence and swept to the door, gesturing for the man to leave.  
"We have cases, Sherlock, we need your help." The DI pleaded. Sherlock scoffed.  
"So what did you do for those last three years when I wasn't here, let the criminals run riot?" He snipped. Greg gulped, seeing how he had backed himself in a corner.  
"Well John helped, back when he was still able. I was the first to find out he was… he had… you know. He carried on, even after that. I think he would have gone on helping until he fell if he could."

Sherlock had frozen in the doorway, his hand gripping the handle so hard that his knuckles threatened to burst through his skin. John had helped them, he knew he was dying and he still helped. He couldn't leave when he was needed. Neither could Sherlock. John had taught him that much. The detective let go of the handle and went to fetch his coat.

_I really need you to listen to me,  
Because I'm telling you the truth.  
I mean this,  
I'm okay  
(Trust me)._

_I'm not okay._


	4. Dying wish

**Dying wish**

Summary: Sherlock has finally shattered.  
Rating: M  
Disclaimer: Not mine, based on 'Do you Know What they Do to Guys Like us in Prison' by My Chemical Romance.

_In the middle of a gun fight,  
In the centre of a restaurant,  
They say 'come with your arms raised high'.  
Well they're never gonna get me,  
Like a bullet through a flock of dove.  
To wage this war against your faith  
In me.  
You life  
Will never be the same.  
On your mothers, I say a prayer.  
Say your prayer._

Sherlock could feel his control slipping away. The criminal was escaping, he had to catch him no matter what. He didn't have John, he couldn't get caught. He had no back up. The detective spurred his legs to move faster. The criminal turned into a back alley, closely followed by the lanky detective. He smirked, knowing that this led to only a dead end.

They got to the wall at the end of the alley, the criminal looked around for an escape and when he found none, he turned to his soon-to-be captor. There was no way of getting past him, the Great Sherlock Holmes was far too clever to let that happen.  
"Where's your pet?" He asked snidely. "Oh, that's right. He died. Terrible business, I'm surprised you didn't save him the suffering and just shoot him. That's how they used to get rid of dogs, isn't it?" Sherlock growled and pulled out the gun John still kept, no, _had kept_ by his bedside. The other male laughed.  
"You're the good guy, you won't shoot-"

_Bang_

Sherlock Holmes left the alleyway, he knew the police would be arriving any minute, if not for a pitiful excuse of backup then because of the gunshots. He grimaced as he realised he would need to get a silencer, that would be more hassle. As he walked, he thought. _I have just murdered a criminal. It wasn't in self defence, it was in rage. I easily lose control now. Do I tell Lestrade? _He laughed bitterly. _No. My job is all that I have now, I am not giving that up. _The idea of just killing the criminals was implanting itself in Sherlock's brain and he was providing the warmth and water for it to grow. Well he would still be on the side of the angels; he'd just be proving that he wasn't one of them.

_They all cheat at cards and the checkers are lost,  
My cellmate's a killer, they make me do push ups in drag.  
But nobody cares if you're losing yourself,  
Am I losing myself?_

Lestrade was beginning to get suspicious, Sherlock could see it in his gaze. This was the fifth time that he had found the corpse of the criminal they were after and he was now beginning to stop asking help for smaller cases, testing the waters. He suspected it was Sherlock doing the killings, but he wouldn't say it. Not yet.

The detective found it pitiful, he hacked into Scotland Yards' database out of spite and took all he needed on the cases he wasn't involved in. This all felt rather like a playground, snide whispers and small pranks which would just escalate into a full on war. Sherlock smirked dully, he would win. He always did. Except from the one time it mattered. He didn't care about the Yard, he didn't care about the job, he didn't care for anything now. He only carried on because John asked him to. John ordered him to carry on, he didn't tell him how to though. The detective felt his insides wrenching on the thoughts of his only friend.

_Life is just a dream for the dead._


	5. The ghost of you

**The ghost of you**

Summary: Sherlock can't let the death of his friend go and he begins to lay the blame.  
Rating: M  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Based on 'The ghost of you' by My Chemical Romance

_I never  
Said I would wait forever.  
If I died,  
We'd be together._

This was all Mike's fault. If they had never been introduced then Sherlock would never have lost his carefully built walls, he would never have fallen for John, he would never have had to feel this way. He would never have had to feel at all. It was all Mike's fault.

The man was easy to find. He was in Bart's, teaching. Dreadful, stuck up young adults who each thought they knew everything there was to know. John would have been different, he would have been quietly confident, he would have sought help when he needed it, he would have listened carefully to each word and he would have never hadn't in an essay late. That was just John, these people were not John. They were not anything like John. Sherlock hated them.

Mike saw him and excused himself from the classroom. Sherlock tried to slip away from him but he couldn't get away fast enough.  
"Sherlock!" Mike called as he left the classroom. The detective sighed as he turned around to face the rounded man. "How have you been doing?" His voice was soft, caring almost. Sherlock glared at him.  
"I am fine." He snapped. _Stupid. Why is everyone so stupid? _Mike nodded sympathetically.  
"It's okay to feel bad, I couldn't believe it when he told me. He only said when there was no way of hiding it though. I guess that was John all over, he didn't like to cause people any suffering." Sherlock clenched his fists, who was this man to say he knew John? He didn't, there was a reason John never spoke to him.  
"Shut up." He growled. Mike blinked, unsure of what he had said.  
"What's-"  
"I said shut up! Don't say another word. I did not come here to get pity from you." Sherlock seethed. Mike took a step back and fell through an open door into a laboratory. Sherlock followed him, all emotion had gone from his face. The medical teacher felt a chill run down his spine as the detective loomed over him.

_At the end of the world,  
Or the last thing I see,  
You are never coming home, never coming home._

Mike Stamford was found later that day in a laboratory of Bart's. He had never come back into the classroom after leaving abruptly. Rumours spread like wildfire among the students but no one really knew what had happened, and it seemed that no one was ever going to as the CCTV for the whole day had disappeared. Sections of Barts were cordoned off while the invetsigation team moved in but nothing of any use was found. In all, it was said to be a mystery worth of Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock spent the next three days in the flat. He hadn't meant to kill Mike, he only wanted to vent. Mike should have let him run, shouldn't have called after him. If he had started running, he wouldn't have looked back. His emotions had gotten the better of him again and Stamford had paid the price. The detective knew he had overstepped the line this time. He had gone too far, John would never forgive him. Speaking of forgiveness, why hadn't he been arrested yet? Sherlock frowned, there had been more than enough time, he didn't hide from the cameras. Realisation stuck, they hadn't been working. _Mycroft. _It seemed that this mess was just getting better.

_All the things that you never ever told me,  
All the smiles that are ever going to haunt me.  
Never going home, never going home.  
Could I? Should I?_


	6. Tomorrow we die

**Tomorrow we die**

Summary: Mycroft tries to talk some sense into his brother.  
Rating: M  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Based on 'Mama' by My Chemical Romance

_Mama, we all go to hell.  
Mama, we all go to hell.  
I'm writing this letter and wishing you well,  
Mama, we all go to hell._

"Sherlock, you need to stop this self-destruction." Mycroft's voice grated, he was annoyed, not concerned. He was only here out of a sense of duty, Sherlock had realised that everything his elder brother had ever done was out of duty.  
"I have no idea what you're talking about, brother." The detective hummed, staring up at the ceiling. The exasperated sigh told him that his brother had more pressing matters. That was good, it meant he would get more annoyed with Sherlock's behaviour than usual.  
"Mummy is at her wits end-"  
"Oh? Well that's nice for her." The detective didn't even need to look at Mycroft to know which expression was on his face.  
"She's worried-"  
"Is she? I was sure they had pills to sort that." He snipped, cutting his brother off again.  
"Sherlock." A warning tone now.  
"Mycroft. Isn't it lovely that we know each others' name?"  
"Sherlock! Stop this at once!" It had been a long time since Mycroft had raised his voice, Sherlock would have found it funny but now he was just bored.  
"Stop what, Mycroft? You were the one who burst into my flat, you were the one ranting about dear old Mummy. I haven't done anything." He paused to inspect his fingers nails. "In fact, you're the only one who has done anything to warrant such an outburst." The detective allowed himself a smirk as he flicked his gaze to see the fuming expression on his older brother's features, his hand clutching his umbrella in a bid to release all his anger.

_Mama we're all gonna die.  
Mama we're all gonna die.  
Stop asking me questions, I'd hate to see you cry.  
Mama we're all gonna die._

Half an hour past and Mycroft still hadn't left.  
"Sherlock, you killed him." He said, his calm political voice back in place.  
"Well done, you were always the smarter of us." The detective replied snidely. Mycroft stormed across the room, looming over his younger brother.  
"Sherlock, you have committed murder. If it wasn't for me, you would be in a jail cell right now. Just stop all of this and get help." He ordered. Sherlock scoffed.  
"Help? I didn't ask for your help, Mycroft and I don't want anyone else's. I am fine." He answered, the anger beginning to build up inside him. The government official's gaze turned steely.  
"Just stop all of this. He's not coming back, no amount of avenging his death is going to get him back. You need to move on." Had it come from anyone else, it would have resembled sympathy but not from Mycroft, he wasn't capable of sympathy.  
"I don't want to move on, Mycroft. I don't want to forget. John was my only friend. How am I meant to move on after that? I may have well been his husband for all the pain his loss causes me. You could have stopped us from meeting and I would never have had to go through this." He hissed. "You should have stopped him. You shouldn't have ever let us meet. I was better alone. Alone protected me. How can it protect me now?" Sherlock stood in one fluid movement, gripping his elder brother's collar. Mycroft kept his calm expression set ridgedly on his face, he had watched the tape showing the last hour of Doctor Stamford's life before deleting it for good and he knew how this encounter was going to end but he didn't let it show on his face.

_We're damned after all,  
Through fortune and flame we fall.  
And if you can stay,  
Then I'll show you the way,  
To return from the ashes we crawl._

Mummy would be so upset. Sherlock left the body on the floor of his apartment. He was expecting a visit from Lestrade later, alone. They were all to blame. The detective could feel himself spiralling, his rational thoughts had retreated into a small cupboard in his mind palace and had locked the door, letting the insanity reign.

_We all carry on,  
When our brothers in arms are done.  
So wave your glass high,  
For tomorrow we die,  
And return from the ashes you crawl._


	7. A beast in repose

**A beast in repose**

Summary: Sherlock continues spiralling, unbeknownst to DI Lestrade, who pays the detective a visit  
Rating: M  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Based on 'The sharpest lives' by My Chemical Romance

_This alone, you're in time for the show.  
You're the one that I need, I'm the one that you loathe.  
You can watch me corrode like a beast in repose,  
Cause I love all the poison, away with the boys in the band._

The moment Greg Lestrade walked into the flat, he knew he wasn't coming back out again. Sherlock Holmes sat in John's armchair, a sweetly caressing melody playing on his violin.  
"Hello, Lestrade." He purred. The detective inspector walked forward, ensnared.  
"What have you done, Sherlock?" He asked in a quiet voice. Sherlock's eyes darted to him, looking through his eyelashes as his fingers continued the music.  
"I am purging myself, Inspector." He replied. The DI didn't know what to say to that, he knew a madman when he saw one and Sherlock had well and truly cracked this time. It was hard to believe that the death of one man good cause all this chaos. "The death of one good man, Inspector," Sherlock cut through his thought. "Causes more chaos than the deaths of all the evil in the world." Lestrade didn't know all the details of what the detective had done in those three years he was gone but he decided that the sentence was not a metaphor. He had gotten rid of a lot of evil in the world and it did not cause him to snap. He sighed, wondering how he was going to die. Blood trickled from the body on the floor, _Mycroft_, he noted dully.  
"Please, sit." Sherlock requested, gesturing to the sofa with his bow. Greg stepped over the body and sat down. "Can I get you a drink? A tea, perhaps? You look like you could do with a drink, Inspector." Lestrade nodded.  
"A tea would be lovely." He didn't bother to watch what went into it.

_Give me a shot to remember,  
You can take all the pain away from me._

Sherlock returned and passed a cup to him. Lestrade took a sip, it tasted just like tea. The smell was slightly off though.  
"Thanks." He hummed over the steaming cup. Sherlock waved away his manners, well he didn't use them at the best of times so there was no need for the inspector to use them now.  
"You are being quite calm about all of this." The consulting detective purred, intrigued. Greg smiled, his mind fogging.  
"I always said I wanted to face death on my own terms, if this is the best I can do then so be it." He answered, thinking back to his wife. Ex wife, no wife. The divorce papers hadn't been finalised yet. Looks like they wouldn't need to be now. And his kids, well they hardly saw him anyway. He felt a pang of guilt but pushed it aside, it couldn't be helped now. Sherlock nodded, the soothing melody pulling Greg's mind from his body.  
"How long?" The greying DI asked, his tongue unwilling to move.  
"Ten minutes at most. You'll feel your mind cloud over first then you'll slowly lose control of your body, your skin will prickle for a few minutes then go numb. Your organs will begin to shut down, starting with the liver and kidneys and working it's way round until it gets to you heart. You will then be starved of oxygen and die, but your nervous system will have shut down long before then so you won't feel a thing. Goodbye, Detective Inspector Lestrade."

_A light to burn all the empires,  
So bright the sun is ashamed to rise and be,  
In love with these vampires.  
So you can leave like the sane abandoned me._


	8. Welcome to the black parade

**Welcome to the black parade**

Summary: Sherlock decides to pay Scotland Yard a visit.  
Rating: M  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Based on 'Welcome to the black parade' by My Chemical Romance.

_When I was a young boy,  
My father took me to the city to see a marching band.  
He said 'son when you grow up,  
Would you be the saviour of the broken  
the beaten and the damned?'_

To say that Sally Donavan was surprised to see the Freak walking into the Scotland Yard was to say that travelling to Alpha Centauri would take a while. She blinked in shock and turned to see where the DI was, he had told them all where he was going and they had each tried in turn to stop him. Since the doctor died, the Freak had become… weirder. Like there were bits of him missing, well more bits of him. Anderson scowled at him as he passed, but didn't say anything. Sherlock moved into the middle of the room, spinning around as though he was looking for something.  
"Lestrade isn't here." Sally called. "He went to talk to you." The detective glanced at her then continued his searching.  
"I know." He hummed in reply. The Sergeant frowned.  
"Then where is he?" She asked in a demanding tone, expecting an answer.  
"Still at my flat, with my brother. Well, on top of my brother the last time I checked." He answered, barely holding back the smirk as the woman blanched. It wasn't a lie, after the life had left his body, Lestrades' corpse had fallen onto that of Mycrofts. Sherlock hadn't bothered moving either of them.

After a couple of minutes, Sherlock took a breath.  
"Hello everyone, I would just like to inform you that you will not be leaving this building today." He stated with a voice raised just enough to be heard by everyone in the room. "I would also like to say that I know more than you think, I know that all of you believed the stories. You all believed that I was false, and many of you tried to convince John. My John. You all spurred his depression and though his death was due to natural causes, you still made his life miserable." The detective paused a moment to take in the confused expressions. "As everyone is accounted for, I think we will get started."

_He said 'Will you defeat them,  
Your demons and all the non-believers,  
The plans that they have made._

One officer went to the door, only to find that it wouldn't budge. Sherlock laughed.  
"I said you wouldn't be leaving." He hummed. "If you manage to get through that door, you will find the next one to also be locked. In fact, every single door in this building is now locked." The confused expressions were quickly becoming fearful. Sherlock placed a hand over the air vent in the wall. "Isn't it funny that a building with so many windows still insists on having a ventilation system? Good for me though, it makes this so much easier." He pulled a mask from inside his coat, though how he hid it was a mystery. The detective fitted the mask around his head, tightening the straps round the back of his head. By now, the officers were beginning to realise what was happening and it was far too late for any of them to do something about it. Anderson pulled out his phone only to find he had no signal.  
"Jamming device.' Sherlock chimed, his baritone voice muffled by the mask. Sally stormed over to him.  
"Stop this right now. You've had your joke." She ordered. Sherlock laughed in glee.  
"Joke? The joke is that I ever thought I was meant to be on the good side. It only gives you pain. I like this better." He looked at his wristwatch. "You have about thirty seconds before you begin feeling the effects of the drug vapours." One woman gasped.  
"You mean it's already in here?" She squeaked. The detective rolled his eyes and didn't answer. He wouldn't answer stupid questions anymore.

_Your misery and hate will kill us all.  
So paint it black and take it back,  
Let's shout it loud and clear.  
Do you fight it to the end?_

Sherlock could tell the moment his captive victims became desperate; they moved from trying to get out to attacking him. It was rather entertaining to watch, though none put up much of a challenge. The detective silently wondered if they would have offered more of a fight if he had told them what was going to happen at the beginning. Sally fought the most, throwing everything she had at him but Sherlock's agility and core strength were more than enough to send her falling to the floor several times, the last time snapping her ankle in the process to stop her standing up again. Her screams shattered through the uneasy silence in the room and sent the rest into full panic. Above all the noise, the eerie sound of Sherlock's laugh could be heard, ringing like a death chime, signalling the end for all.

_Won't explain or say I'm sorry,  
I'm unashamed, I could have shown my scar.  
Give a cheer for all the broken,  
Listen here, because it's only. _

One by one, the police officers dropped to the floor. They weren't dead yet if the gasping breaths were anything to go by. Some had tried to cover their faces but it did little good, the vapours still got through. When he was surrounded by lifeless corpses on the floor, Sherlock smiled. Sally coughed in the corner, the pain etched across her face with each wheezing breath.  
"How did-y –stop vent-lati-n to-rst –f building?" She rasped. The detective grinned darkly.  
"I didn't." He purred. The woman's eyes widened in shock then the light faded and she slumped back against the wall.

The detective pulled the keys from his pocket and danced over the corpses to the door. Throughout the building, bodies littered the hallways. His rational mind resurfaced for a fraction of a second, looked at all the carnage its transport had caused, then retreated back into its cupboard vowing to never leave the safety again.

_Do or die, you'll never make me.  
Because the world will never take my heart.  
Though you try, you'll never break me.  
We want it all, we wanna play this part._

_We will carry on._


End file.
